Another year of my life has come to an end and while overall being 36 wasn't too bad, it could have ended a little better.
I have a friend I have known for about a year and a half now. He's exactly a year younger than James and he does remind me of James in several ways-mainly his being a big flirt. I think the similarities are why we get along so well; I know what I'm dealing with. He and I have always flirted with each other and our comments to each other are often laced with sexual undertones. And now we are both single. And since he became single, the level of flirting has gone up a notch, as has the level of physical contact. The last couple of times I saw him, I left wondering if we were dancing around something or just flirting because we're both single and as he said "share a brain."
So Friday, my last day of thirty-sixness, armed with encouragement from two co-workers, my Canadian friend, my good friend's sister and the confidence that comes from wearing a sexy bra, I sent him an e-mail to see if he wanted to join me for MLK, Jr. Day dinner since I couldn't join him for Christmas. (After all, who doesn't celebrate MLK Jr. day with dinner?) And he said no. It takes a special kind of loser to be turned down by someone who does nothing but flirt with and lately can't seem to keep his hands off of you, especially when you know he has started dating again. Combine this with my speed dating and online dating failures and me meeting well over 100 men in the last three years who weren't the least bit interested in me and wow. Dad was right. There really is something wrong with me. So I give up. I'm done with the constant disappointment that is trying to date.
I got his e-mail as I was leaving the acupuncturist, where I had a bad reaction to one of the needles. I was bummed, but proud of myself for asking (now I wish I hadn't) until the whole special kind of loser thoughts invaded. And somehow, that made it impossible for me to get from the acupuncturist to downtown-something I did with no problems last week. Every turn I made was wrong, which just ticked me off. So when I finally met up with Guy Pal and our other friend to see "Black Swan," I was hungry since all my wrong turns left me with no time to eat and cranky-apparently visibly so as Guy Pal kept asking what was wrong and finally if it was something he did when I said I would tell him later, and tear-eyed for being such a pathetic, undateable person.
I figured at this point we would watch the movie and then find something else to do afterward (like eat) or call it a night. I figured the night would get better now that I had my buds to hang with. Yeah. I was wrong. I got to the theater before them and by the time they arrived, the only place for us to sit where we could sit together was in the front row. Being that "Black Swan" is a seriously messed up movie about ballerinas, there is a lot of movement in it. I started to feel a little funny part way through the movie. When it was over and we went to leave, I couldn't get up. Even the 3D effects of "Avatar" did not make me this sick. After a few minutes, I thought I felt okay enough to leave. I made it out of the theater and found a bench in the lobby, where I immediately dropped my head between my knees to keep from throwing up. I have to say the guys were pretty awesome with trying to figure out what I needed to make the motion sickness pass. And then I put the icing on the top of my bad evening cake: I handed my feminine product filled purse to my incredibly good looking casual friend so he could riffle through it to find the pack of gum I always carry for when I need to settle my stomach-a must have for this IBS sufferer. And then I made my way to the bathroom and threw up. No more front row movies for me.
Once I was actually able to leave the theater, I had a chat with Guy Pal about why I was so upset when they got to the theater. He has been one of the biggest champions of me dating and even he is beginning to change his tune and agree that maybe this is something that is pointless for me to pursue. That I should just give up and go back to just hanging out with my friends and having fun. So that's what I'm going to do. Thirty six ended on a down and very disappointing note. For thirty seven, I'm just going to focus on what I need to do to happily spend the next 50 years alone.